


Under Audit

by LotusFlair



Series: The Appraiser [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Auditing, M/M, New Relationship, The Magnus Institute, The Usher Foundation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-09-28 09:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20423843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusFlair/pseuds/LotusFlair
Summary: The Entities have been blocked, they have a lot of tasks to accomplish and only one week to do it. The Magnus Archives is under audit.Starts directly after The Appraiser.





	1. Saturday Night

He could toss and turn no more. The cot was unbearably flimsy. It squeaked when he moved and he felt that, at any moment, it would give up on its own structural integrity and collapse out of spite. He sat up slowly, careful not to wake the second cot’s occupant. Jon needed sleep and Martin wasn’t about to deny him such a precious activity. They all needed time to recuperate and recharge if they were going to face whatever battle was clearly headed their way. Tonight, though...tonight Martin was resigned to restlessness and a wandering mind. Better to let the body wander as well. He gently slipped his fingers out from under Jon’s relaxed grip and left the office.

He heard a voice as he stepped into the hallway. Basira and Daisy were down in the tunnels with their own rickety cots. Melanie wasn’t due to come in until Monday, if she bothered to show up. There was no chance of it being Peter, which left one person: CJ Cobb, Appraiser for the Usher Foundation, the Magnus Institute’s sister site in the United States. Less than twenty-four hours since she arrived and she’d managed to banish, to some extent, the influence of the Entities from the archives. An audit, Jon said, which gave them a week to get organized and figure out their next steps. CJ offered to stay through the week to help research and teach Jon techniques to curb his avatar-related urges. Martin wasn’t sure where he fit into the plan. He just knew Jon wouldn’t let go of his hand.

CJ was sitting at the front desk, feet pushed up against the wall. There was a bottle of whiskey set to the side, untouched. She was on her phone intently listening to the person on the other end. The tattoos on her skin soared as old school swallows flew in and out among clouds draped by Greek muses in repose. She was relaxed and happy and her eyes practically sparkled as she spoke.

“It’s getting late, mi amor. Are you ready? Okay…

_ The stars hang thick in the apple tree, _

_ The south wind smells of the pungent sea, _

_ Gold tulip cups are heavy with dew. _

_ The night’s for you, Sweetheart, for you! _

_ Starfire rains from the vaulted blue. _

_ Listen! The dancing of unseen leaves. _

_ A drowsy swallow stirs in the eaves. _

_ Only a maiden is sorrowing. _

_ ’T is night and spring, Sweetheart, and spring! _

_ Starfire lights your heart’s blossoming. _

_ In the intimate dark there’s never an ear, _

_ Though the tulips stand on tiptoe to hear, _

_ So give; ripe fruit must shrivel or fall. _

_ As you are mine, Sweetheart, give all! _

_ Starfire sparkles, your coronal. _

Te quiero, Daveed...bye.”

She turned to Martin, a soft smile lingering on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Guilt washed over him quickly and without mercy.

“Sorry. I-I’m sorry. Did - did I interr...upt…?”

“It’s fine. The time zone thing always throws us off so we try to keep to our routine when we can,” she said.

“Routine?”

She gestured to the extra chair. Martin sat without hesitation. It was an improvement over the cot. Taking the bottle of whiskey and two glasses he couldn’t remember being there, she poured the drinks, handing one over. They toasted silently and drank. Both felt the spirit’s strength immediately.

“Daveed and I have a routine. Every night before we go to sleep we recite a poem to each other,” she said, sipping at the remaining liquor. “Doesn’t matter by whom or the topic. Just listening to his voice...hearing the words...it grounds me.”

“He’s your Anchor, then?” She nodded. “How long have you two been...um...anchored?”

She chuckled. “Oh, I’d say about...seven years, give or take. It’s hard to keep track when you’re in and out of comas or locked in dimensionally testy mausoleums for months at a time - the usual.”

“Is it - were you two always…? God, I’m sorry, I don’t even know what I’m asking,” he said, taking another swig of whiskey.

“We weren’t always  _ together  _ together,” she said knowingly. “It took a while to figure out. We argued a lot. Like, a lot. I was belligerent. Stubborn. Prone to irrational states of invincibility. He was arrogant, surly, and one hundred percent out of his depth when it came to the work we were doing.”

“Sounds familiar,” Martin commented. 

“But...we cared. That was enough to justify every fight and sour look. He just didn’t want me to die,” she said. “It was that simple and yet…”

“It’s the most insurmountable obstacle,” he finished. She poured more whiskey. 

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “I mean, you all need therapy, but that’ll be a breeze compared to all of...this.” She gestured vaguely to the entire archives.

Martin laughed. “That sounds even worse.”

She joined him in laughter for a moment. When they’d quieted, she looked at him with such intense surety it left him breathless. “He’ll be okay, Martin. So will you.”

He didn’t realize he was crying until a droplet of water hit his hand. “It’s hard to think that way right now. I feel like, at any moment, I’m going to lose him all over again.”

“Trust me, he feels the same way.”

“Yeah...but, it’s...it’s different somehow.”

That stare again. Her eyes were so penetrating in their curiosity. “How?”

He shook his head. It was too much to think about tonight. Too much thought and too much whiskey. Wiping his eyes, he stood with the intent to leave. “I should...I should get back. Get some sleep.”

Her somber smile returned, curiosity replaced by a mix of sadness and disappointment. A memory tried to surface, but Martin pushed it down as far as it would go. He had enough to deal with and thoughts of his mother were banned for the time being. If they made it out alive, maybe then he’d deal with it. Only if they made it out alive.

He was halfway to Jon’s office when another thought occurred. He stopped and turned to face her. “Jon said you’re a liar.”

She chuckled. “That’s actually quite the compliment. I’ve been called so much worse.”

“But...everything you’ve said...you and Daveed...Jon and...was any of it true?” he asked. She poured the remaining whiskey into her glass, pushing the bottle as far away as the desk would allow. 

“Yes,” she said and left it at that.

* * *

He entered the office as silently as possible. The sliver of moonlight through the window gave him just enough guidance to make his way back to the twin cots. Jon had barely moved. Did the scrambled connection to the Eye keep him from dreaming? Was that why he slept so soundly? Would he sleep at all when the week was up?

He laid back down, lacing his fingers with Jon’s. The conversation with CJ rattled him, but not for the reasons he thought it would. There was a part of her that was closed off. If lies were her means of protection, did she apply the same techniques with Daveed? Could Anchors see through the other’s deception? And if he couldn’t did Daveed have doubts about CJ and she about him? Were he and Jon headed towards a similar path?

Laying on his side, he brought Jon’s hand as close to his heart as possible and said:

“ _ Doubt thou the stars are fire, _

_ Doubt that the sun doth move. _

_ Doubt truth to be a liar, _

_ But never doubt I love. _ ”

“William Shakespeare. Hamlet. Act 2, Scene 2,” Jon said tiredly. “A tragedy? Seems...ominous.”

“You’d prefer a comedy?”

“God, no! There’s only so much melodrama and hey-nonny nonny a man can take,” he said. The warmth of his laugh spread through Martin like a comforting blanket. Whatever lies CJ told, there was truth in what she said about the balm of Daveed’s voice. 

“At least I avoided the Romeo and Juliet cliche,” Martin said.

“I prefer melancholy to star-crossed,” Jon countered. “Though I suppose you’ve cast me as Ophelia in your adaptation.”

“You want a crack at Hamlet?”

“‘I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw,’” he said. The laughter wasn’t as light this time around. Quoting from a tragedy wasn’t exactly a mood-lifter given the Bard’s body count. Jon squeezed his hand, bringing it closer to his chest. “Are you...okay?”

“...No…”

“That’s...that’s what I thought.”

“What about you? Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

The silence was peaceful. For once it felt like there was nothing unspoken between them and the honesty gave them time to enjoy being together. 

“So,” Martin said, breaking the silence, “one week to...figure out the Watcher’s Crown? Fight the Extinction? Get your diet in order? Anything else?”

“No, I - I think you’ve got it all.”

“Busy week. CJ seems like the type to get up early.”

“Maybe not based on how much whiskey you two shared.”

“Just...getting to know the family,” Martin said. “Always good to...build good relationships...with...sibling institutions.”

“Martin,” Jon said.

“Yes?”

Jon squeezed his hand again. “Go to sleep.”

“Right…” Martin inched closer to Jon. Mostly it was to lighten the pull on his arm stretched between the two cots, but he wasn’t going to deny himself the warmth and intimacy of being inches away from the man he loved. The moonlight outlined their joined hands and he watched as they rose and fell with Jon’s breath. It was worth it. Every scar, every lie, every excruciating moment of loneliness was worth it just to feel Jon’s heart beating beneath his fingers. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep it. 

Nothing.


	2. Sunday

“Breathe in...breathe out...breathe in...breathe out…”

Jon heavily exhaled in retaliation. From the moment the sun rose, CJ had been guiding him through breathing exercises, stopping only to allow him to record a statement. She’d regimented the entire day, timing his “meals” and social interactions down to the second. Part of Jon understood the need for a tight schedule. She had a week to impart an enormous amount of information and techniques that might result in curbing his monstrous hunger. It was a tall order few could accomplish. He should be grateful. He’d asked her to help.

The other part of Jon was cranky and tired of sitting on the floor of his office breathing. Martin had stuck it out longer than anyone should, but he was far more determined than people gave him credit. After a few hours, however, Jon shooed him off to go hunting for statements. Daisy and Basira poked their heads in sporadically, but never stayed long. It was just Jon and CJ sat on the floor. Breathing.

“Problem, Jon?” she asked. Her eyes remained closed. The tattoos had taken on the style of Japanese waves, beautiful as they crashed into unseen rocky shores. Jon could only focus on the coming storm.

“I thought we might’ve moved on from breathing by now? Aside from the extra oxygen, how is this going to help me stop the end of the world?” he asked.

“You are an emotional, irrational person,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“I...yes? What?”

“You, Jon, are an emotional, irrational, impulsive semi-human. You push yourself too hard and you panic when you get in over your head. Your physical and emotional states make you susceptible to the Eye’s influence,” she explained. “So, if you want to keep from forcing statements from people because you’re acting on hunger, you need to know how to keep yourself calm and how to calm yourself when you don’t feel in control.”

Her voice was steady as a rock. There was barely an inflection to be heard, but Jon could read far more into the intention of the words. He was a danger and a liability outside and within the archives. If he couldn't leave home base without extracting statements, then how was he going to help anyone?

"I - I'm sorry," he said. "I - I just want to be...I need to _do_ something while I have the time to do it. You said there will likely be retaliation for blocking the Entities, right?"

"Most assuredly," she said. The waves on her skin continued to roll and crash.

"Then I want to fight them!" He slammed his fist on to the floor. Pain exploded through his hand before subsiding bit by bit as the seconds passed. Not as bad as having ribs pulled from your body, but the reverberations climbed up his arm before petering out along his collar bone. He winced, cradling the injured limb.

"You're cut off in more ways than one, Jon," she said. The waves turned red as rivulets of inky blood cascaded down her arms, neck, and briefly from her eyes. "Pain hurts and wounds don't suture themselves as fast when you're connection falters."

"Thank you for the timely information," he said through his clenched jaw.

"In my defense, I didn't think you were going to smash your hand into a concrete floor to make a point," she said. "And yet here we are."

The door opened and Martin stepped in, a coffee and two cups of tea balanced on top of a fairly sturdy banker's box gathered from the stacks. Upon taking notice of the situation he stopped cold. "Everything alright?"

CJ broke her meditative position, standing with as much grace as one can when moving off the floor. She took her coffee off the box and carefully sipped the steaming liquid. "Just taking a break. I'll be out in the hall wandering around. Make sure he has a statement."

She was out the door and gone leaving the two men staring at each other.

"Were her tattoos...was that blood?" Martin asked.

"An illustrative approximation, yes," Jon responded.

"Jon, what's wrong with your hand?"

He sighed. "I slammed it into the floor. Apparently I won't be healing as quickly for the next week."

Martin made a face somewhere between irritation and sympathy. "Let's get you cleaned up. Do you have a first aid kit in here?"

"Um...maybe? I honestly haven't had need for one in a while because of..."

"Yeah. Take your tea. I'll find some bandages."

"Are you...are you upset?" Jon asked.

The scowl on his face answered for Martin directly. "Yes, Jon. Yes, I am. You've managed to injure yourself in less than 24 hours just sitting on the floor!"

"I didn't know that would happen!"

"Did you ask? Did you two go over the different ways this...audit...would and wouldn't affect you?"

"Not exactly."

"Did you think about how this disconnection might work against you? Just because you can sleep a bit better doesn't change who you are!"

"You mean _what_ I am," he said, glaring. Jon felt his anger rising over the implication. It swirled with his lingering physical pain, crashing into his overactive mind. His tongue and teeth itched and he felt hungry. It would be so easy to take, to compel, to pull what he needed from Martin --

"No!" Jon shouted. He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to take what wasn't his.

"Jon?"

"I won't! I won't do it!" He felt Martin's hands on his shoulders, smelled the soap on his skin, heard his breath catch.

_Breathe, Jon. Breathe. In and out. Focus. Focus on Martin. Keep him in your sights. Don't lose sight of Martin. Don't. Lose. Martin._

He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. In and out. In and out. Slowly, very slowly, the urge abated. His teeth and tongue no longer itched. He opened his eyes and Martin came into focus. He sobbed with relief.

"Talk to me, Jon," Martin pleaded.

"I'm sorry," Jon said. "I'm sorry...I didn't - didn't think...I - I know you're all trying to help. I'm just...scared and I don't know what to do."

"Well...breathing is a start, I guess," Martin offered. Jon exhaled a short laugh.

"I suppose," he said. He felt Martin begin to move away, but instinct told Jon to hold on. He wrapped his arms around Martin. Each inhale brought the smell of soap, tea, and lemon. It eased him further and, after a minute or so, he was able to release his grip and stand back. Martin's cheeks were bright pink. Brown curls framed his round face, highlighting hazel eyes flecked with gold. Beautiful. Sadly, they couldn't stay like this all day. "I should...I should probably get to that statement."

"Yeah," Martin whispered. "I'll get the medical kit from the --"

The door opened. CJ placed the med kit in Martin's hands. She looked pointedly at Jon. "Statement and then we start working on lucid dreaming."

And she was gone again.

Jon sighed, mumbling, "This is going to be a long week."

***

Statements <strike>Consumed</strike> Read

  1. Statement of Irina Sebrova about a disconcerting experience while flying over Poland in August of 1944 with her fellow Night Witches. Statement given February 18, 1959. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: Apparently I can read Russian now. Statement is Vast related._
  2. Statement of Charlie Bale about an experience while observing the Libyan Desert Diorama at the American Museum of Natural History in Manhattan, New York. Statement given October 2, 2017. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: The first statement about the Extinction I've actually read and not listened to second hand from Martin._
  3. Statement of Jyoti Patel about encountering an oracle while on holiday in Greece. Statement given June 14, 2010. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: The Eye apparently has a sense of humor. One big cosmic joke._
  4. Statement of Demetra Agnelli about traveling through time and space after walking through the Alchemical Door of Rivodutri. Statement given May 31, 2011. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: Michael having some fun or, more likely, trying to understand himself now that he has a name. His tricks are rudimentary here compared to previous experience and past statements. It's as if he's trying to figure out where Michael begins and Michael Shelley ends. Or if either is possible._
  5. Statement of Guillermo Quintana regarding a Dia de los Muertos celebration at his mother's home in Oaxaca, Mexico. Statement given March 3, 1999. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: The End offering comfort. That's a first._

***

"Stop pacing, Basira," Daisy said, her annoyance echoing through the tunnels below the archives. "Hand me those statements Jon recorded today."

"You mean his meals?" Basira said as she slapped the folder down on the makeshift desk. The bitterness in her was growing, though Daisy wasn't certain how much of it was Basira and how much was...something else.

"We're all surviving the best we can. And he's _trying_. That should count for something," she said. Daisy circled two of the statements in red pen, adding notes in the margins. "Can you add these to the timeline?"

"And what am I supposed to do when he slips up?"

"What are you going to do when _I_ slip up?"

Basira shook her head. "That's not - it's different for you. Hunters aren't the same as monsters."

"That's not true and you know it," Daisy said. "I'm just as likely to turn and you can't just threaten Jon and not hold _me_ to the same standard. Monsters get out of hand, we put them down. That includes me."

The continuing echo didn't afford them even an awkward silence. Just a constant repetition of Daisy's words hitting Basira over and over again. She understood the logic of it, but the reality of having to kill Daisy wasn't something she wanted to entertain. She kept her back to her partner and started writing on the chalkboard they'd dragged down from the institute. Daisy watched her, noting the hunched shoulders and the tight grip Basira had on the chalk. One way or another, this conversation was going to happen again. Maybe for the last time before she put a bullet through Daisy's skull. She'd welcome it, of course, but the sadness of not seeing Basira again hit her hard.

It was going to be a long week.


	3. Monday

Monday had arrived and so too did Melanie to the employee entrance of the archives. After declaring her intentions not to work in service of the Eye while still technically an employee, she'd wondered if her fate was sealed. Would Peter Lukas disappear her like the other employees for lesser offenses? Would the Eye attempt to punish her? Compel her to serve? But nothing happened. She showed up, sat at her desk, ate lunch, drank tea, and did nothing else for the rest of the day. No one reacted poorly. If anything, Daisy and Basira showed her greater respect. Jon kept his distance and she was glad for it. She found it easier to keep the archives separate from her life in the outside world no matter how much they overlapped.

Stepping into the archives, Melanie felt a sudden rush like a breeze of cool air being released full force. She was lighter as well. Her body felt released as if she'd been dragging weights without realizing it. There was a part of the Slaughter that she knew would never leave her, but from the moment she crossed the threshold the lingering anger, at least the anger she recognized as part of the Slaughter, was gone. No fan fare just...poof! Gone like it had never existed. There was still plenty to be angry about, but now it was all her. Just Melanie King and her anger issues not enhanced by supernatural entities. A bittersweet feeling, but at least she knew they were _her_ feelings. She remembered Basira had left a message on Saturday, but Melanie, per her therapist's instructions, had started putting boundaries in place when it came to the archives. No more phone calls related to the Magnus Institute. Ever. Even calls from Daisy, Basira, or Jon were heavily screened despite seeing them during the work week. The strategy certainly helped her relax during the weekends. Now she felt as though she'd missed something big and missing something big in relation to the archives rarely worked out well.

Music drifted through the halls. She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard music in the archives. Tim had taken to blasting the loudest, most annoying metal he could find as a means of open defiance against Elias, but after he died it was just the eerie quiet of a building devoted to observing the pain and suffering of others. The music she heard now was quiet, soft and soothing. Combined with the weight lifted and the cool breeze the archives could've been mistaken for a normal place of work. She followed the melody to Jon's office. He was talking to someone, a voice she didn't recognize. Were they giving a statement? Was it another avatar?

"You can come in, Melanie!" said the unknown voice. The last thing she expected to see was Jonathan Sims cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed in meditation. Across from him was a woman with braided hair and...living tattoos? She turned to her and smiled warmly. "Hi. Charlotte Jane Cobb from the Usher Foundation. You can call me CJ. I need your help with something."

"Um...Hello...," Melanie responded. "I can't help you."

"I promise it isn't feeding the Eye. If anything, you'll be helping defy it," CJ said. Melanie stepped further into the office.

"I'm listening."

"Jon, can you tell Melanie what happened last night?" CJ asked.

If looks could kill, Jon would have murdered them all. Melanie had the distinct feeling she was there to settle a bet between the two given CJ's crooked smile. Jon turned to Melanie and said, "I dreamed of fourteen pillars and they crumbled into dust. Then a swarm of spiders stitched them back together while a giant eye watched."

It sounded rehearsed and if not for the bags under Jon's eyes she would have told him so. Unfortunately, it sounded like something Jon would dream about. It sounded like something any of them could dream about under their current circumstances. She nodded in acceptance, but kept her eyes steady and distrustful. "Okay."

Jon looked genuinely surprised. CJ nodded. "Melanie, what did you do this weekend?"

She waited for the feeling of compulsion, but it never came. "Um..."

"Don't worry, it's not part of my skill set," CJ said. "Couldn't compel you if I wanted to."

She wasn't reassured in the slightest, but she didn't feel like they were forcing information out of her so she did what came naturally. "Um...I mostly stayed home. Read a book. Watched some television. Pretty boring."

"Sounds lovely," CJ said. She looked at Jon and Melanie felt that same sense that she was unmistakably part of something between the two. It was a feeling she was familiar with as a pawn in the Eye's game.

"Right, so I'm gonna go...I'm sure Basira will fill me in," she said, backing away.

"Thank you, Melanie," Jon said. He was annoyed but sincere.

"Nice meeting you," CJ said.

"Yeah. Same...I guess."

She stood outside the door longer than she intended. It was a lot to take in and she wasn't sure how to make sense of it. What could she actually make sense of when everything in the archives made no sense? She felt her anger pushing back, maybe even a little bit of the Slaughter bubbling to the surface. She tamped it down. The archives wasn't worthy of her emotions. It was a place of manipulation, of trauma relived. Even a simple interaction was enough to make that point abundantly clear. With a frustrated huff, she stomped down the hall to find Basira. Maybe she could logic it all into a convenient package of believable nonsense.

***

Statements Read

  1. Statement of Ludmila Hájek about feelings of unease surrounding her corneal transplant and post-surgery visions. Statement given July 28, 1951. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: The surgical theater. Obvious in hindsight, but still disturbing in the predatory nature of the Eye. I'm concerned about the origin of Ms. Hájek's corneal donor. If they were connected to the Eye and able to pass that connection through the surgery, then it stands to reason this was either a calculated plot or an unforeseen consequence. Neither scenario is preferable._
  2. Statement of Hamish Lowry about his brother's descent into pyromania and arson. Statement given August 4, 2009. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: I already know Hamish Lowry was killed by his brother Gareth five years after this statement was given. Another sacrifice to the Desolation._
  3. Statement of Minh Phan about their artificial reef installation off the coast of Mexico. Statement given January 10, 2012. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: A combination of the Stranger and...possibly the Extinction. I wonder when the Fears start to, for lack of a better word, share a person's pain? Is it like a hyena pacing while the lions feed? Or are they invited?_
  4. Statement of Dr. Aphra Morgenstern about the Lepidoptera collection at the Natural History Museum in London. Statement given October 8, 2009. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: I was unaware that butterflies were omnivorous. I suppose it's still possible to learn something new given my patron's proclivities. That knowledge couldn't save Dr. Morgenstern from what the Corruption attempted...and what they accomplished._
  5. Statement of Sebastian Jones about his new phone and the built-in podcast application. Statement given April 15, 2014. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: Technology is a plentiful source for the Lonely. Despite being connected we're still so very isolated in our experiences._

***

"Okay, since everybody's here, I think it would be a good idea to make a list of resources, allies, and enemies. Once the audit ends you're going to need as many friends as possible and it's always good to keep track of who or what might hinder your poorly executed plans," CJ said. She sounded like she was speaking from experience. The group had gathered again in Jon's office. There were probably other more spacious places to meet, but it was strangely comforting to gather in the relatively small place to plot and plan. Team building at its finest if teams were made up of emotionally stunted hostage employees. Jon was still floored Melanie was in the room. For all of her talk of not doing work or being involved with the Eye she was still here, still hopeful for a way out.

Martin pulled the white board over. He drew a line down the middle and wrote "Allies" on the left and "Enemies" on the right. "Alright, I think a general free association is probably best. Just start naming things and we'll sort it out as we go."

"Helen," Melanie said. Jon gave her a look. "What?"

"She's helped us a few times," Basira said. "She likes you, Jon, despite everything."

"Color me flattered," Jon grumbled.

"Jon," Martin chided. Those in the room watched as Jon acquiesced without a fight.

"Fine, put her on the Allies list," Jon said. Martin wrote "Helen" on the board, then drew a door by her name. "I can't imagine she'll be very happy when the audit's over."

"I think Helen won't care at all," Melanie said. "She's admirable that way."

"Yes, _she's_ quite admirable that avatar of the Spiral," Jon said bitterly. Martin tried to give him a sympathetic look, but Jon kept his eyes low this time.

"The Usher Foundation," CJ said. "Madeline McCarthy, my director, has given me permission to put our full support behind stopping the Extinction and any other services required of the Institute."

"Can we trust that?" Basira asked. "You're aligned with the Eye as well."

"There are far more dissenters among the Eye's chosen than you'd think," CJ said, giving Basira a knowing look. "It turns out being in a constant state of observation invites more questions and has the unfortunate byproduct of independent thinkers."

"You're hardly independent if the Eye can still compel you," Basira countered.

CJ shrugged. "Maybe not, but I can give it a try."

"Okay, so the Usher Foundation," Martin said, writing it beneath Helen. He drew a crude building that made Jon smile in its simplicity.

"Put down Trevor Herbert and Julia Montauk as well," CJ added.

"The vampire hunter and the daughter of a serial killer?" Martin asked.

"Just Hunters," CJ said. "I could probably swing for them to get one-way tickets here. Or we could keep them on standby in the states. Madeline won't be thrilled with the latter, but I'm not ruling out any allies at this point."

"Don't we already have a Hunter?" Melanie asked, looking at Daisy.

"No," Basira said sternly, "we don't."

"Yes, we do," Daisy said. Ignoring Basira's shocked face, Daisy looked to Jon and Martin. "If I have to...I'll do what I need to."

"Daisy-"

"Not now, Basira. Later."

Martin reluctantly wrote Daisy's name. He drew a flower over a set of pointed teeth. Then he wrote his own name under hers, drawing a sad face surrounded by clouds and an approximation of fog. He looked over at Jon and the two shared a brief pained expression.

"Should...should I be on there?" Melanie asked.

"No," Jon said. "You have the best chance of getting out of this, Melanie. I won't let you invite the Slaughter back after the progress you've made."

She was sure this meant he'd been keeping tabs on her therapy sessions, but it didn't matter as much as the adamant tone of Jon's voice. For all of the anger and distrust between them he was still willing to put her safety and well being above the advantage having the Slaughter back would give them. She nodded and whispered, "Thank you."

"What about the Web?" Martin asked.

"What _about_ the Web?" Basira responded.

"Well, they do seem to have a desire to keep existing. Maybe - maybe they'd help. We could at least present the idea to them."

"I think we should just assume the Web has their own plans in place. However we fit into them has yet to be seen," Jon said. It wasn't an admonishment of Martin's suggestion, but it was very clear that there would be no olive branches reaching between the two groups. Martin nodded. He wrote "The Web" across the line between Allies and Enemies, drawing what could only be described as an adorable spider next to the word. Jon tried to cover his growing smile. The seriousness of the situation was front and center in his mind, but the palpitations of his heart gave him permission for the emotional indulgence. 

"Better add The End with the Web," Daisy suggested. "Not exactly on our side, but likely not in favor of the world ending either."

"Good point," Martin said as he finished drawing a tiny skull and headstone. 

"What about Georgie?" CJ asked.

"What _about_ Georgie?" Jon and Melanie responded.

"I mean...she's connected to The End," CJ said as if it was the most obvious statement in the world. "She may not be an avatar, but she recognizes Terminus and those in its service. She would be incredibly useful for her lack of fear alone. Actually, that might be integral to dealing with the Extin--"

"NO!" Jon shouted. The connection to the Eye may have been reduced, but the whole room felt the force of Jon's anger in his booming voice. He recognized it as well, taking a moment to compose himself. "Georgie Barker is off limits."

"That's not your call to make, Jon," CJ said. 

"Yes, it is," he said sharply. "Georgie made it very clear she wants nothing to do with m-- with the archives -- and I'm going to respect that. So long as I'm living and breathing, Georgie stays out of this. Is that clear?"

There was a moment where it appeared Jon had ended the discussion. No one was sure if changing the subject was the best course of action or if carrying on the list would be more beneficial. CJ was quiet, but she wasn't finished. "The time for protecting people is over, Jon. This list we're creating is for a war I'm not sure you're fully committed to. If you want to fight back, then you need every resource available and until you understand that I have no idea what to do with you."

"That makes two of us." He stood and left the office, slamming the door. Martin followed without provocation, leaving the women of the archives alone together. CJ took the seat Jon vacated, putting her feet up on the desk. Whether it was out of habit or in retaliation was unclear. Her tattoos rippled between screaming faces and expletives hidden by random symbols and punctuation marks.

"There's no scenario where any of this goes well is there?" Melanie asked. "We're just circling the drain."

"Honestly...I don't know," CJ said. "Our allies are few. Out gathered intel is scant. All of the advantages I've provided are minor in comparison to the enormity of what we're up against. It might be a fool's errand..."

"Well, we are idiots." Melanie said. "Jon especially. And we've faced this threat before."

"None of these threats have been the same," Basira said. "We've only managed to come through by luck. Not because we planned better than Them."

"We're doing the best with what we have," Daisy said, squeezing Basira's hand. "And what we have...is each other. That's it. We've survived this long. Maybe we can do it again."

"Or die trying," Basira added.

Daisy smiled. "Or die trying."

"Oh, for the love of - I'm going to call Georgie," Melanie said. "If Jon doesn't like it, then he can take it up with Human Resources!"

Another slammed door. And then there were three.

Daisy leaned forward, staring right into CJ's eyes with all the ferocity of the Hunter within. "What contingencies should we have in place for Jon?"

CJ sighed and leaned in to meet her gaze. "You're a Hunter, Daisy. That's the contingency."


	4. Tuesday

The mood in the room was thick with resentment and it had been that way for most of the morning. CJ had dealt with toddlers with more emotional maturity than Jonathan Sims, but she couldn't fault him entirely. Martin told her he'd slept poorly, waking up sporadically due to restlessness. He was worried, upset, but mostly scared. She could relate. There were days she felt so paralyzed with fear she could hardly remember how she got out of bed. Sometimes it was Daveed's voice guiding her through the fog. Other times it was her own stubbornness and sheer force of will. But, mostly, it was routine. She got up because she had to work, which gave her the ability to focus on helping others and defying the Eye. Years of experience gave her the perspective necessary to combat her depression. Jon didn't have that luxury. Like everything he'd experienced in the last few years he'd have to learn on the fly and deal with the fallout afterwards. There was no way their sessions were going to fix the multitude of problems Jon was no doubt shifting through, but sliding back to square one was unacceptable at this point.

"I'm going to tell you a story," she began, "and, as far as you know, it's entirely true."

Jon sighed heavily. They'd played this game most of yesterday. It was her way of showing Jon how to lie convincingly and how to catch those lies. He was rather brilliant at catching the lies and discrepancies, but by his own admission he was rubbish at being intentionally deceitful. Jon was far better at guarding himself by omitting information instead of manipulating it. It was a defense mechanism she saw often in their line of work, but she imagined it was a skill Jon had learned long before he came to the Magnus Institute.

"CJ...could we not do this today? I'm...tired. I think the only thing I can handle right now is the breathing exercises," he said. It was true, he looked haggard, but that wasn't the reason why he wanted to forego another game.

"You can be mad at me all you want, Jon, but I'm not going to stop teaching you very useful things just because it's uncomfortable," she said.

"I'm not mad--"

"Jon."

"Alright, I'm mad! Is that okay?! Can I just be mad?!" he shouted. The tattoos invaded her skin in a flurry of scripts and fonts of all sizes and formatting spelling the word "mad."

"Sure. And what do you want to do with that?" she asked.

"I don't know! I'm - I'm not used to this - this level of anger," he said.

"If this is about Georgie, I--"

"It's about everything, CJ. We don't have a lot of time before it all comes crashing in on us and I feel like we're no closer to figuring anything out than we were before you got here." He broke his meditative pose, stretching out his legs. "I don't know how to protect them. Any of them. At least with Georgie...she didn't have a connection to this place beyond knowing me and Melanie. As long as she didn't want to have anything to do with me I - I could keep her safe. But there's nothing to be done about that, is there? Melanie's already called her."

"She still has a choice, Jon. Georgie will do what she needs to do," she said. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as the tattoos spelling out "mad" melted away. "And I think she cares a lot more about you than you think."

"How could you possibly know that?" Jon scoffed.

"It's part of my little bag of Appraiser tricks," she said. Popping up from the floor she grabbed a paperweight from Jon's desk. "Which is what we'll be doing right now."

Jon didn't look impressed. "How does a paperweight relate to knowing anything about Georgie?"

"I told you before: I can learn everything about a person, place, or thing. That includes people who've only casually entered a specific space. It was the first thing I did after Basira made a threat to punch me when I entered the archives. Usually I try to stay above board with the surface level information, but I can also burrow all the way down to the nitty gritty details." She showed him the paperweight. "For example, this is a ball-shaped paperweight made of scrap marble from Carrara that your grandmother brought back from her solo Italian whirlwind vacation when you were ten. Digging a little deeper, I can tell you that Naldo De Palma was the man who chipped the pieces off on February 10 and it was shaped by Fabiana Sarto three days later. She handed it over to her sister Vittoria who sold it for slightly more than it was worth. I could also tell you the names of everyone who touched this from its creation to its final resting place on your desk."

The knowledge came to her effortlessly. There was no moment of focus, no gearing up for the deluge of data. Jon stared at her, dumbfounded. "How-how do you deal with all of that information?"

"A steady diet of aspirin and years of work learning to compartmentalize," she said. Her gaze wandered for a moment, reliving a memory that rose to the surface. She recovered quickly, but Jon could see it wasn't pleasant despite the easy smile. "Wanna try?"

"Do you think it'll work?" he asked.

She shrugged. "You're the Archivist. Most of us just get a few powers to help with the Eye feeding, but you get the whole kit and caboodle. Anything I can do, you can do. Within reason," she said. A random assortment of tattoos surfaced just to make her point.

"Okay," he said, skeptically. Looking around, he tried to find something with a fair amount of history to divulge. He settled on the fountain pen he used when making notes on statements. He held it loosely between his fingers and waited. CJ watched him with an amused smile as he stared down the pen with all of the tenacity of a graduate student powering through an all-nighter before finals. When the giggle fit finally escaped, he slouched in defeat and glared at her. "Am I doing it wrong?"

"No," she said, though it was slightly muffled from her hand covering her mouth to stifle the laughter. "Sorry. It's less of a stare the pen into submission activity and more of a relaxed meet and greet."

"Fine," he said. Keeping the pen in his hand, Jon closed his eyes and focused. The breathing exercises were useful, but he wasn't going to tell CJ that.

"Just think about the object in your hand. Introduce yourself. Compliment the pen," she said.

"You have got to be jok--"

"Compliment the pen, Jon," she said. Her sober features gave no quarter. She was having a go at him, but she also held the key to opening this new door. He was going to have to make nice with the pen.

Another drawn out groan from the Archivist. "Alright...your ink is a lovely shade of...black today. Oh, for the love of God...!"

She cracked a smile and the giggles continued. "Well done. Now, keep all of that in your head. Let the pen open up. Imagine a balloon slowly inflating. Let its history fill the balloon, bringing it higher...higher...until its practically bursting and...POP!"

Like a damned wizard the sound of CJ's _POP_ sent the information flying into his head - manufacturers, artisans, previous owners, the current condition of the pen itself poured in. He resisted, at first, but relaxed as the details flowed past his defenses and settled beyond the door he'd built to keep the flood of the Eye's knowledge at bay. The rush was exquisite. He opened his eyes and finally realized how hard he was breathing, how fast his heart was beating. "That - that was incredible!"

CJ took the pen out of his hand, smiling proudly. "Let's take a break. I think you've earned a statement."

***

Statements Read

  1. Statement of Leopold Stork, regarding his time spent as the keeper of Morris Island Lighthouse off the coast of South Carolina. Original statement given as part of a letter to Jonah Magnus, January 9, 1820. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: The Lonely, the Eye, and the Vast competing for the soul and sanity of a single man. It's unclear who "won," but they seemed to take great delight in Mr. Stork's descent into madness. Yet again, the archives' namesake allows another friend to suffer while he, no doubt, watches. I wonder if that's my destiny as well. Watching the people I care about suffer...and doing nothing except watch._
  2. Statement of Kira Faucheux, regarding her visit to the University of Tennessee body farm. Original statement given April 20, 1990. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: Another example of Fears overlapping. The End and the Corruption are a particularly formidable combination given how much the two are tied together. Ms. Faucheux disappeared three months after this statement was written. She was later found in one the the university's decomposition areas. Her body was riddled with worms that shouldn't have appeared until much later in the decomposition process._
  3. Statement of Georgios Metaxas, regarding a message in a bottle. Original statement given August 11, 2005. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: The machinations of the Web may never make sense. Where Mr. Metaxas fits into his plans may not come into play for years. Why did they want him to find those messages? Why did they need him off that island? I hesitate to use my abilities when I'm sure to be too hungry after exerting myself. Perhaps it's best not to know, though I doubt I'll stop thinking about it._
  4. Statement of Subira Otala, regarding observations of gorillas in Uganda. Original statement given December 1, 1960. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: I'm not surprised that our evolutionary cousins are also capable of falling under the sway of the Fears. A microcosm of human behavior observed, documented, and filed away. _
  5. Statement of Dr. Dominik Novosad, regarding Ludmila Hájek's post-surgery and aftercare. Original statement given January 31, 1952. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: A follow-up that reaffirms the Eye's terrifying agenda and the corneal donor's ambiguous intentions._

***

Sleep eluded him. Martin was quietly snoring at his side, but Jon was restless again. The majority of the day had been a fact-finding mission of small objects and their long forgotten histories of creation and ownership, but CJ wouldn't let him appraise anything larger than a stapler. She admitted to playing it safe. While the new skill provided an alternate avenue for research it was easy enough to get pulled in by the undertow. The potential for drowning was always there. Jon understood her hesitance. His personal history of impulsive behavior all but signaled what would inevitably happen. Caution was the best practice, but they didn't have time -- _he_ didn't have time -- to be wary of his new power. If it could be useful, then he needed to employ it on something of value - perhaps an item in Artifact Storage, another avatar, or the archives itself. 

He knew it was a bad idea the moment the thought occurred. He knew it in the logical, rational part of his brain that regularly dimmed around the time it would have been at its greatest use. But, as CJ had pointed out, he was an emotional, irrational, and impulsive semi-human. Better to play to his strengths no matter how flawed and self-destructive. Gently, he untangled himself from Martin and eased down to the floor. His fingers brushed over the concrete, cool and inviting. Pressing his hands to the floor, Jon closed his eyes and let the balloon burst.

The archives was enormous, more knowledge than could be contained in any one vessel. He saw all of the statements, read and unread, Artifacts Storage and its multitude of mysteries, employees past and present, and he watched the archives and the institute rise from the ground brick by brick, each with their own storied lifespan. The weight of it all pressed against his mind. The stories, the emotions, swirled around him in a kaleidoscope of nonlinear thought. He felt the undertow licking at his feet - an invitation to sink that he reprimanded himself for contemplating. He would not drown, but he would dive in. 

The building and the spider's web of stories contained therein faded as he found himself in the tunnels below the archives. He saw the makeshift space where Daisy and Basira slept and watched their lives unfold before his eyes. The winding maze of Helen's domain showed him endless possibilities, secrets that penetrated the weakening doors within his psyche. He pushed further, determined to gain every advantage available. If this was a singular experience, then he was going to make it count. The maze revealed itself, showing him its center.

A giant, all-seeing Eye. 

It gazed at him, into him, just like in his dreams. The Eye itself was impassive. There was no emotion to be discerned. It simply stared and waited. And wasn't that just the problem with it all? Watching and waiting for other people to act; living through the pain of secondhand experiences while the Eye gorged on misery, anxiety, and paranoia. In that moment, in the place between mind and body, Jonathan Sims wanted nothing more than to wreck the Eye. All of his anger and guilt burst through in a hideous roar as he sent his fists straight into the false god.

The impact sent him reeling as more images, more emotions, more stories poured into his mind. It was the flood and he had nothing left to hold it back. The Eye was gone and he was descending into the inky black of Void. His last conscious thought before the emptiness consumed him echoed as he cried out:

"MARTIN!"

***

Martin bolted forward with a pained cry. Jon's voice, he'd called for him, but Jon was...

On the other side of the cots was Jon, his body stiff and straight but shaking. His head twitched back and forth as his eyes rolled back in his head. He was speaking, but the words were garbled as if he was saying every word all at once. Martin rushed over, kneeling by Jon's side but afraid to touch him for fear of hurting him further. 

"Jon?! JON! What - what --?

CJ pushed through the door, her eyes wide with panic. When she saw the two of them her lip curled as she snarled, "Idiot."

"I-I...what's h-happening, CJ? What's wrong with him?"

"He tried to appraise the whole damn thing," she said. More footsteps pounded down the hall and just as suddenly Basira and Daisy stood in the doorway. They were ready for a fight, but kept their distance when they saw the scene before them. It was very possible Basira gasped in shock.

"What?! What does that mean?" Martin asked, his voice heightened in fear.

"...too...too much..." Jon slurred, "...I-I can't, I can't...it's too much...too..."

"Jon? Jon, can you hear me?" Martin said.

"Martin? Martin, look at me," CJ said. "Look at me!"

Tearful eyes stared into hers. He was a young man, strong but young, and fear made his youth all the more prominent. She gripped his arm and spoke clearly. "He's overwhelmed. There's a lot of information in his mind and he can't distinguish between where we are and where he is. You need to call him back."

"H-how - how do I do that?" Martin asked.

"Make a path and guide him home," she advised. It was vague, but strangely informative. Martin took Jon's hand and began to stroke every so lightly with his thumb. Jon felt cold yet sweat covered his body, soaking his shirt and sweatpants. Martin set a pattern, feeling the creases of Jon's skin and the little hairs that stood on end across his fingers down to his wrist. He pressed into the knuckles and followed the curving lines of veins, tracing them as far as they'd go.

"J-jon...love, I need you to listen to me, al-alright? Listen to my voice, Jon. Can you hear me?"

Jon continued to slur and shake. His breathing was erratic, short as he gasped out, " --M-martin - Martin - where...? W-where...? I-I can't...I c-can't..."

"Listen to me, Jon," Martin said, his voice breaking. He saw tears rolling down Jon's cheeks, spilling on to the floor. He gently wiped them away. "Listen to my voice. Follow it. Come home, Jon. Come back to me. Please."

He guided Jon's hand to his cheek, pressing it close to his mouth. "I'm right here, Jon. Right here. I'm not going anywhere. Not until you come back."

"--no...no...I-I...too much - too much - Martin...where-where?" He was writhing, his body twisting in pain and fear.

Martin gave a frustrated growl, wiping the tears from his eyes. He stared up at CJ in desperation. "It's not working! What do I do?!"

CJ paused, searching for an answer. "Tell him a story. A memory. Something that you two share."

Sniffling, Martin nodded. He gathered Jon in his arms, stroking his cheek and hair. "Jon...do you - do you remember when we were hiding from Jane Prentiss? We were in the office you practically bullied Elias into letting me stay in. You asked me why I didn't quit, remember? You wondered why I stayed. I told you I felt trapped, like I was just as wrapped up in the statements as you were. Do you remember what you said? You asked if I'd died in the archives. You genuinely thought that I might be a ghost. I think you were more offended by my denial than I was at the accusation."

Martin laughed through tears at the memory all over again and by some miracle he felt Jon start to relax in his arms. There was pressure on Martin's cheek as Jon pressed back, his fingers probing to make sense of what he felt. 

CJ nodded encouragingly, "Keep going."

"That was when it started, Jon," Martin said. The shaking began to subside. His head stopped twitching. "That's when I started falling for you. Such a bizarre question that came from curiosity even in the face of certain death. That's you, Jon. That's the man I love."

"...Martin...," Jon sighed. They watched as he took a deep, gulping breath and relaxed completely, slumping heavily into the support of Martin's arms. Slowly, his eyes opened, bright and blue. Tears continued to stream down his face matching Martin's in their ferocity. There was recognition that quickly gave way to shame and it wasn't long before the wracking sobs followed. "I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Martin. I-I saw...I-I saw--"

"What did you see?" Martin asked. Their eyes met, both filled with fear.

"The Eye. I saw it. I saw it," Jon sobbed. "It saw me."

Jon clung to Martin's shirt, burying his face in his chest. Martin, in turn, hugged him closer, rocking him every so slightly. "Shhh, it's alright, Jon. It's okay."

"No, no it's not. It's not okay. It's not okay," Jon rambled.

He continued to babble his apologies until, finally, the exhaustion caught up with him and he passed out. CJ helped move him to the cot, but made it very clear she wouldn't be leaving the office for the remainder of the night. Daisy and Basira, after a long time spent reassuring them that the situation was under control, reluctantly returned to the tunnels. Martin saw Daisy lean into Basira as she rubbed at her eyes. Settling next to Jon, Martin wrapped around him like an extra blanket, though he wasn't sure who he was comforting. He needed to be sure Jon was protected, safe, and loved. He could just barely make out CJ sitting at Jon's desk, head in her hands, before he too felt the exhaustive pull of sleep drag him away.


	5. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem CJ recalls is "What Are Heavy?" by Christina Rossetti

Statements <strike>Read</strike> Consumed

  1. Statement of Audra Norton regarding a strange bruise on her arm. Original statement given May 8, 2013. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: The Corruption - I have nothing more to add._
  2. Statement of Stasia Guérin regarding feelings of being observed by a group of men while walking to work. Original statement given October 7, 2003. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: The Eye again. My sympathies for Ms. Guérin. I understand the paranoia but for very different reasons...obviously. _
  3. Statement of Raoul Sauveterre regarding phantom limb pain. Original statement given July 4, 2012. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: Tom Han encouraging a man to chop off his own limbs...so that be might obtain symmetry once again. I think I'm too tired to be disturbed._  

  4. Statement of Paden Thibault regarding his growing obsession with Jack the Ripper. Original statement given September 25, 2002. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: I'm glad Melanie is getting therapy. I'm glad she has Georgie to rely on. I wish I...I wish Paden Thibault had had that. _  

  5. Statement of Sayyida Karim regarding the unearthing of dinosaur bones in Wyoming. Original statement given May 23, 2010. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. _Notes: I have no notes. No thoughts. I'm just tired. I almost miss the respite of being trapped in the coffin. _  


***

When he opened his eyes he immediately wanted to close them again. In the waking world he was frail and listless, an Icarus who flew too high and should've died in the fall. Instead, he was alive, or what passed for alive, and his body felt heavy and sluggish. Whatever energy he'd built up using CJ's rigorous schedule was zapped from him in the wake of his massive appraisal of the archives...and beyond. More frustrating was his inability to recall any of what he'd taken in. Was it his mind protecting him from the stress and trauma of what he'd gone through? Or was the Eye denying him access? Had he sentenced himself to death for nothing? The statements he'd read throughout the day barely made an impact. The most activity he could muster apart from reading was smoking a cigarette and even that took more concentration than he could afford. He now had to strongly consider that the written statements would eventually fail to sustain him. Without any live statements to bolster him it was safe to assume he was on borrowed time. Surprisingly, he found comfort in the thought. He'd chosen to come back, to live under the absurd notion that what he did mattered, that he was needed. The last year had taught him differently.  


The lack of warmth at his side told him Martin was off somewhere. He didn't have the energy to Know. A loud rip drew his attention to the American woman sitting at his desk, headphones on, stuffing a crumpled piece of paper into her mouth while she nodded to the beat. He envied the relative simplicity of her feeding habits. If eating a book was the answer to his problem, he'd gladly work his way through every tome, manuscript, and primary resource the archives had to offer. Sensing she was being watched, CJ turned to face him. Pulling the headphones down, he could just make out her musical accompaniment: The Eurythmics, "Sweet Dreams."

They sat in the quiet of mutual observation until Jon finally spoke. "If Daisy killed me...would it set anything back? Would it matter?"

CJ scowled, "Of course it would matter, Jon. You'd be dead."

"But how quickly would the Eye recover?"  


"Hard to say, but you're assuming the Eye even cares about timelines or the best-laid plans of mice and men," she said. "You know, the Eye isn't our _only_ problem."

Jon slowly sat up, breathing through the dizzy spell. "No, that would be me."

"If you're set on going down this path...I could always make other arrangements," she said cryptically.

"I'm a bit tapped out at the moment, CJ. What are you talking about?"

"There's a book you might be familiar with in the possession of two Hunters you're very familiar with. I don't think it would take too much convincing to add your page," she said, carefully watching his expression. Jon almost burst out laughing. The irony of it was absurd.

"Well," he said with a sly, sad smile, "I do owe them for burning Gerry's page."

She glared at him. "Really?"

"What? You offered," he countered.

"Because it's a stupid idea and the last thing anyone would want!" she shouted.

"Well I don't know where you've been for the last five days, but those are the only options available! I'm stuck here, CJ! I tried to Know what the Lonely was up to and it overwhelmed me. I tried to appraise the archives and the Eye overwhelmed me. I move in one direction and I end up hurting people. I move in another direction and I lack the knowledge to even combat what we're up against!" he stopped as a wave of dizziness washed over. The anger deflated almost immediately leaving him exhausted once again. "They're all directly connected and I can't...I can't keep this up."

"Jon..."

"...There was a statement I read a while ago. A woman, Anya Villette, was pulled here from an alternate reality where the Magnus Institute and the archives doesn't exist. I've been thinking about it for a while now...more recently, if I'm being honest, but...what if there's another Jonathan Sims? Is he living a normal life? Does he have a job he loves? Does he have friends, a family? Maybe a cat? Then I imagine him having everything I don't, making every opposite decision, and for a brief moment...I can believe it's my life as well. Then I remember where I am - what I am - but I'm not sad about it. I'm hopeful because there's at least one version of myself that gets to be happy. Even if I'm just making it up in my head."

"He's only happy because you want him to be," she said quietly. "That Jonathan Sims exists in a world of moral absolutes. All he knows is there's good and bad and maybe some shady areas in between. But you live in _this_ world, Jon. There is no black and white. It's just a swath of grey we call existence with the occasional burst of color. Good people do bad things, bad people do good things. Circle of Life. Wheel in the sky keeps on turning." He nodded ever so slightly, but he couldn't look at her. It was hard to stare into the eyes of someone with so much conviction when he could barely muster a happy thought. Of course, she noticed. "What matters now is that you _do something_ to protect that existence. There's no bravery in killing the monster right now. It's too easy. You live with it and you survive."

"I believe you missed your calling as a motivational speaker," he said, wiping at his eyes.

"I'm going to need that in writing so I can show it to the rest of the Foundation when I get home," she said. Another more comfortable moment passed between them before he remembered what she was doing when he woke up.

"What're you eating?" he asked. It occurred to Jon that she must have been at the end of her meal. There was only a leather-bound shell on the desk, reminding him of a lobster dinner from long ago. 

"Another one of Leitner's," she said. "_A Memory of the Abyssal Spring_. He got it from one of Lovecraft's lesser known personal collections and I nicked it from a private collector when I was in Baltimore last year. Written in 1757 by Emmaline Groomes under the pseudonym Ebenezer Parcel. Has a touch of the Vast sprinkled with some Spiral. Tastes like seared scallops in lemon butter."

"Why books?" he asked abruptly.  


"Hmm?"

"I just had a thought...about how our...eating habits manifest. Tape recorders, books, I assume the act of Watching nourishes Elias."

"Well, aside from ledgers and governmental edicts, books and manuscripts were one of the first means of recording massive amounts of information," CJ said. "But the oral tradition is the purest form. It's how we created our fears of the dark, monsters, nightmares, etc."

"And why the fresh statements invigorate me so much," he added.

"You're tapping into the most primal means of information sharing we have as a species."

"Cheers to me, then," he said sullenly. He knew being a brooding lump was a tired disposition, but it was familiar, easy, to fall back on. With a determined look, CJ scooted the chair across the room so they could be face to face. He was expecting anger or disappointment folded in from their recent conversation with what he'd done the night before, but all she gave him was empathy and a warm hand gripping his.

"I'm going to tell you a story and, I promise you, it is entirely true," she said. He nodded, accepting what she was about to say without the usual skepticism. They both felt the presence of a tape recorder turning on. "I was about two years into working at the Usher Foundation and...to put it lightly, I wasn't doing well. I'd had a bad run-in with the Desolation and, in my injured state, I broke into a house - I think somewhere in Arlington, Virginia - because I smelled cherry pie. I was running on fumes, feral. When Madeline finally got to me I'd torn through that house, eating every book I could get my hands on. There was a woman and her two children in the house...and I scared them. I scared myself. I tried to rationalize it and when I couldn't do that I tried to find a way to stop it. I had all of this knowledge, but no means of putting it to good use. The Eye didn't have a need for context. It just wanted data and the human part of me couldn't reconcile the two. I became obsessed with inhibiting the Eye since it seemed determined to hinder me for its own benefit. I reasoned that if it couldn't See me or through me, then it wouldn't want me anymore. Maybe I could find a way out, live a normal life. 

That's when I started cutting the eyes out of every picture. If there was a nearby advertisement on the street, I'd cover the eyes with a black marker. I started carrying a can of spray paint just in case - nearly got arrested for vandalism a few times. I punched out camera lenses, broke every piece of tech within reach, and just generally made an ass of myself wherever I went. After getting a stern reprimand from Madeline, I went home and had the startling revelation that when I fed off of the books provided I always scanned the page - like I was speed reading - before eating. That was how it worked through me. I wasn't just eating the books, I was reading them, feeding the Eye. If I was going to stop it, stop feeling so scared and angry and paranoid, then I wasn't going to give it the pleasure of using the part of myself that was most important to it's consumption. 

I remember grabbing a pair of scissors and holding the blade right below my eye, resting it on the inner lid. One push was all it took. But...I hesitated. I kept shaking...out of fear? Maybe the Eye was controlling me? Staying my hand because it knew my intentions? Or was I just a coward unable to act when the chips were down? Then I saw him. Daveed was standing in the doorway of my apartment. He'd been screaming, pounding at my door for twenty minutes and I hadn't noticed. He picked the lock, of all the ridiculous...anyway, he stood there and saw what I was doing - what I was about to do. 

We weren't exactly together, but we'd been dancing around each other between arguments. He came over to check on me, make sure I wasn't going to do anything stupid. And that's what he found; an idiot ready to blind herself out of some existential need for martyrdom. He walked up to me, tried to coax the scissors out of my hand. He recited a poem of all things to try and distract me. 

_What are heavy? Sea-sand and sorrow;_  
_What are brief? Today and tomorrow;_  
_What are frail? Spring blossoms and youth;_  
_What are deep? The ocean and truth._

It did the trick. It calmed me enough to stop shaking.

And then I shoved the blade into my eye. 

Nothing happened. I felt it slide in. I could feel it sitting there, but the pain barely registered. It was no worse than a tension headache. I took it out and there was no blood, no eye attached. I could perfectly see Daveed's shocked, then furious, face. I started laughing. I was so sure that I had it figured out...and I was so wrong. Why would it let me go when I was giving it what it wanted? My pain and my fear and my paranoia was just as good as any other victim's. There was no clean way of getting out. I was in this until the Eye had no more use for me.

So, after a lot of yelling and crying with Daveed, I resolved to stay alive as long as possible. I was of more value if I stayed in the game, but I understood that my choice was inconsequential. The Eye would continue to Watch, to See, to Know, but I could still choose the type of monster I wanted to be even under its scrutiny. The Eye didn't care...but it mattered to _me_ and if it mattered, then it was worth fighting for."

They both felt the tape recorder shut down. He noticed that throughout the statement CJ's tattoos never manifested. Normally they were a decent indicator of her mood, but all he saw now was bare skin. Jon took in a deep breath, exhaling with a measure of satisfaction. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry it wasn't more," she said, "but that's all I felt comfortable giving."

"I think it'll do, for now. But...will it ever be enough?"

"I didn't know you were a philosopher, Jon."

"You know what I mean," he snapped. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache started forming. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," she said. "I gave you a loaded gun and you used it because of course you did. Last night was bad all around for everybody and now here we are, nursing you back to health, when it could've been avoided." She clenched her fists, tapping them gently on her knees; stopping herself before she even started. "I just thought...if you had the right tools it might make a difference."

"Foresight isn't exactly part of our skill set, is it?"

She chuckled. "No. I'm still sorry, though. I stayed to help and I seem to be doing the opposite."

It was Jon's turn to chuckle. "I believe that's the unofficial motto of the archives."

They sat in a comfortable silence until Jon felt the pull of sleep once again. Without a word spoken, CJ scooted back to the desk, the faint sound of The Cure's "Love Song" starting as she put her headphones on. Jon tried to make himself comfortable before exhaustion took over. He was out before his head hit the flimsy pillow.

***

When he woke again it was to gradual sensations building on each other. He could feel the fleeting warmth of the sun coming through the window. He smelled the familiar scents of soap, lemon, and tea. He heard the faint humming of a song. Strangely, though, he felt something wet touching his skin. It made circular motions, straight and crooked lines, and then the distinct feeling of rapid movement like the shapes were being colored in. Opening his eyes, he found Martin's brow furrowed in concentration as he drew on Jon's arm. His eyes practically sparkled in the setting sunlight and his tongue stuck out, every so slightly, from the left corner of his mouth. The artist was truly at work.

"Can I see the masterpiece or is it a work-in-progress?" Jon asked.

"True art is never finished," Martin said jokingly, "but I suppose you could take a look."

Raising his arm, Jon found the same symbols Martin had drawn on the whiteboard during their last office brainstorm session. Starting from his upper arm and working down to the wrist, he'd managed to capture most of the Fears with simplistic, but effective, shapes and lines. The last one on his wrist was the achingly adorable spider. Its plain depiction belied the cold machinations of the Web, but Jon wasn't one to criticize art.

"It's all of the Fears you've faced," Martin explained. "The Corruption, Spiral, Stranger, Desolation, Vast, Dark, Flesh, Slaughter, Hunt, the Eye, The End, Buried, and the Web."

"When did I face the Web?" Jon asked, genuinely curious.

"You went to Hilltop Road," Martin said, "and you're scared of spiders. I think that counts for something."

"I'm not scared...I just don't like them," Jon said defensively. "But thank you. These are...they're lovely, Martin."

"I reckon CJ isn't the only one who should have some cool tattoos around here."

Jon brightened. "If that's the case, then hand it over." Martin gave him the pen. "And the arm."

The shaking started before he could press the pen to skin. Even the minor relief from CJ's partial statement wasn't enough to wipe away all of the fatigue. Martin sensed the change and quickly switched his arms so he could keep Jon's wrist steady while he drew. Slowly, carefully, Jon applied what meager artistic talent he had to his...to Martin's arm. Keeping his focus on drawing, Jon didn't realize how long they were not talking until he was almost done with his rendition of the Corruption. It was odd to feel so comfortable around someone without any additional noise to carry the conversation. Their friendship had been riddled with complications, mostly due to his aloofness and paranoia, but now they were something different. They understood each other in ways that few could given their experiences together and apart. It was the latter, though, that concerned Jon the most.

"Do you think Peter's plan will work?" Jon asked as he started on his version of the Stranger. He felt Martin tense up.

"I...maybe. I'm mostly relying on Simon Fairchild's explanation. Peter isn't exactly the social type," Martin said. "But there's still a lot of things I don't know about it. Why?"

"I think...I think when the Lonely comes back you'll disappear again," Jon said. "Not because you want to but because the pull might be too strong."

"Jon--"

"I think the Eye will do it too. I'm hungry, but I'm not starving like before. When the audit lifts...it'll be stronger and I'm not sure what I'm going to do or who...who I'm going to hurt," he said. He stopped drawing and let their eyes meet. "I want...I want you to be okay. I want you to survive this. I don't want you to sacrifice yourself for nothing."

"You think the world isn't worth sacrificing myself for?" Martin asked defensively. He drew back from the cot. "I understand what I'm doing, Jon. I'm not an idi--"

"I don't think the world is worth you," Jon interrupted. He gripped Martin's hand tightly, pulling him closer again. "I can't make you do anything. That's untrue, actually. I could, but I won't. I just want you to know that if I survive this...and you don't..."

Martin squeezed back. He placed Jon's hand on his cheek, letting him feel the warmth of his skin. Jon didn't want to think about it going cold, surrounded by fog and loneliness. Martin moved to sit on the cot, closing the distance between them. "I can't promise I'll make it through this," he said. "But I can try. And if I get...lost..."

"I'll find you," Jon said resolutely.

Martin nodded, though neither of them was deluded enough to think it was entirely possible. "You'd better. But, until that happens, we're going to make use of the time we have."

"What do you mean?"

Martin helped Jon get to his feet, keeping him steady when it appeared he might fall over again. "Daisy, Basira, and Melanie have something to show you in the tunnels."

***

"This is..." Jon began.

"Right?" CJ added.

"I told you it was impressive," Martin said. Jon didn't want to think about how many chalkboards were missing in the Institute, but he honestly didn't care as he gazed at the massive timeline Basira, Melanie, and Daisy had constructed. Events were mapped out, but there were just as many connected lines establishing activities by the Fears as well as the implementation and destruction of their rituals. It was Perspective on the grandest of scales. 

"I...don't know what to say," Jon started.

"That's a first," Melanie said. Daisy elbowed her. 

"What - when did you get the idea for this?" Jon asked.

"It was Basira's idea," Daisy said. Jon heard it in her voice and the look she gave him confirmed it. The logic, the details, the need for order amidst the chaos. The Eye had laid its claim once again. They'd have to deal with it later, but Jon made sure to give Daisy an assuring nod knowing it was all he was capable of doing for the moment.

"I figured we needed to map it out," Basira said with a measure of pride. "Maybe some answers would make themselves known if we backed up a bit."

"I think we all needed something to occupy our time," Daisy said. "I know I did."

"So we took the transcripts and notes from anyone who read statements and tried to make sense of it," Melanie said with just a tinge of pride as well. Jon could see the Melanie he'd known before her employment at the archives pushing through again. This Melanie liked showing her work off because she knew how much time and labor had gone into it. This Melanie was in control and she loved it. 

"Well, I must say it--" Pain built behind his eyes as Jon felt the sudden push of Knowing enter his mind. CJ said the Eye lacked context because it didn't care about how all the pieces fit together. The end goal was never to solve the puzzle but to continue collecting pieces even if they belonged to multiple puzzles. Humans, though, they loved a good mystery and who better to put it all together than the Archivist. 

"JON!" Martin shouted. He broke out of his stupor to the concerned faces of all those present. He was shaking and sweating, but he Knew.

"It was here the whole time!" Jon shouted excitedly. He ran up to the first chalkboard, pointing at the very first event recorded. 391 BCE, the destruction of the Serapeum of Alexandria. "Every event concerning the Eye is connected to the collection of knowledge, right? There are statements about surveillance and watching, yes, but what happens to those statements? We...take them, record them, and store them. We accumulate a massive data bank of human experiences under the auspices of esoteric and paranormal research, but that's not true at all. We want the information because it feeds the Eye and the stronger the Eye gets, the easier it is to enact its ritual."

"Okay, so what does that have to do with Alexandria?" Martin asked.

"We know the Eye hasn't been able to perform a ritual, but we haven't looked at when it may have tried," Jon said. Running his finger gently down the chalk line, and careful not to smudge the hard work of his friends, he followed it down to the ticks between 1700 and 1900. "Gerry said the Flesh was the newest Fear to emerge. The industrial revolution and the meat-packing industry began here. As did the Magnus Institute."

"You think the institute and the archives were part of a ritual?" Melanie asked.

"Or it was built after one failed," Daisy offered.

"Mostly yes and probably yes," Jon said. He felt manic, like everything was falling into place as the rush of knowledge invaded once again. "There are dozens of destroyed libraries and archives that occur in this era as well. The Great Lisbon earthquake in 1755 destroyed the palace library and the royal archives. The Copenhagen Fire of 1728 destroyed private book collections and the University of Copenhagen's library. The Library of Congress in Washington, DC was destroyed in the War of 1812. The Royal Library of the Kings of Burma was looted and destroyed in 1887. The Birmingham Central Library was devastated in 1879."

"That's a lot of supposition," Basira said. "The Eye was, what, trying to perform a ritual around the birth of the Flesh and the other Entities stopped it?"

"I think the act of witnessing the birth of the Flesh was what it wanted," Jon said. "And all of these supposed natural disasters and...fires..."

"Jon?" CJ said, a warning in her tone. 

"That's what we have to do," Jon said quietly. "It's all here to facilitate another witnessing event. It wants to watch the Extinction emerge. But if we gut it where it's the most powerful..."

"JON!" everyone shouted.

"We have to destroy the archives."


	6. Thursday

Martin didn't remember falling asleep, but he became painfully aware of the stitch in his back caused by his awkward position against the tunnel wall. He'd slumped forward a bit and jerking awake knocked the back of his head into the wall causing some dirt and dust particles to fall. Looking around, he wasn't the only one who'd nodded off. Basira and Daisy had managed to get to their cots. Melanie was resting her head on the table out of necessity. CJ was nowhere to be found, but Martin suspected she'd gone back into the archives to sleep on something relatively more comfortable like a normal person.

That just left Jon and, judging by the whispered words echoing off the walls, he was still putting the puzzle together. Checking his watch, Martin groaned as the digital numbers blinked the early morning hour. Jon needed to sleep. They all needed to sleep, but Jon was likely running on fumes. He wasn't going to stop until someone pushed him in the right direction. Feeling his bones pop as he stood, Martin carefully made his way over to the chalkboard timeline. Jon sat in front of it at a distance where he could see the whole layout. Martin noticed writing in the dirt, notes Jon was making for himself as he sifted through whatever information entered his mind. He was staring particularly hard at one area of the timeline, the Industrial Revolution where his first epiphany had occurred. He was talking to himself, but in the way that a person would when they were trying to logic an answer by saying it out loud. As if voicing the problem would somehow provide clarity. Martin made note of the more pronounced shake in his hands and the sheen of sweat on his brow. His eyes and head were drooping even as he stared ahead purposefully.

"Jon," Martin whispered, putting a hand on his shoulder. Jon jerked at the sudden touch, his hands batting at the perceived attack. It took a full minute before he realized who he was swatting at and why.

"Martin...I-I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I-I didn't - didn't realize...what time is it?"

"Three o'clock in the morning, love," Martin said, gently as he helped Jon to his feet. "C'mon, you need to sleep. Let's get you upst--"

Jon pulled free of Martin's soft grip, staggering dangerously towards the chalkboards. "No - no, I just need a - a little more time. Yes, there's something - something here that I'm not seeing. How - how does it all fit together...?"

"I understand that, but you need to rest. You can be Sherlock in a few hours," Martin said.

"No, you don't understand!" Jon shouted, his voice echoing. It was a testament to how tired everyone else was that the only one to even stir awake was Daisy. Jon's eyes were wide with panic, darting around in search of a way to explain something he couldn't quite grasp himself. "What if - what if this is the only chance I have? If I w-walk away, if I sleep, what if the knowledge disappears? If-if I don't know how it all fits - how it all works - then how...how can I save you?"

Martin approached, slowly. Jon was working himself up and he needed calm reassurance or he'd lash out. The last thing they wanted was Jon waking up the whole institute and half of London because he needed a lie down. "Jon...you have to sleep. You can't save anyone if you can't think straight."

Jon scratched at the back of his head nervously. He was listening, but the pull to Know was strong. Martin had a strong sense that this was similar to how he was before he'd extracted statements from the unsuspecting public. He moved in closer, his hand reaching out to Jon's arm, fingers gently wrapping around. His body was practically vibrating, but he didn't immediately pull away. His eyes went from Martin's hand to his eyes to the chalkboard. He opened his mouth as if to protest, but it fell flat. The fight just melted away as he collapsed into Martin's arms. If not for the relatively quick reflexes of the former archival assistant, Jon might've hit the floor. Martin felt Jon's body lighten as Daisy helped distribute his weight between them. The Archivist was out cold, exhaustion catching up with him yet again.

"C'mon, let's get him upstairs," Daisy said, grunting even under Jon's slight frame. It was the first time Martin had noticed how thin Daisy was compared to the last time they'd spoken. Her clothes hung baggy and lifeless on her body. Her face was gaunt and pale and the steady, unnervingly dogged set of her eyes lacked the bite that normally came with finding one's self in her sights. She knew he was watching her as they carried Jon back into the archives. Those instincts wouldn't fall away as quickly as her weight. Once they'd deposited Jon on the cot in his office, Daisy gave him a quick look of warning. Martin kept quiet until she was halfway out the door.

"Do Jon and Basira know?" he asked. She stopped but didn't re-enter the room.

"Yes," she said quietly. Martin couldn't tell if she was lying, but Daisy had never been the type to lie when the truth could cut through the refuse that much easier.

"Are you --?"

"I'm alive, Martin," she said. "For now. Take care of Jon."

"Yeah," he whispered. He glanced down at Jon for a second, but she was gone before he looked back. Feeling the tiredness return, Martin settled in by Jon and fell asleep almost immediately.

***

"Okay, let's go over it again because...yeah, my head hurts thinking about it," Melanie said. They'd all gathered in the tunnels again bearing their larger than normal mugs of the strongest coffee and tea available. Even CJ looked wiped out, the last few days finally showing in her eyes and the hardened scowl on her face. Or, maybe she wasn't a morning person. It was early enough that Martin wouldn't have counted Jon or anyone getting a good or full night's sleep, but at least Jon looked somewhat rested. The statement he'd read upon waking had done little to improve his appetite or mood and Martin was immediately reminded of his brief exchange with Daisy.

Jon stood in front of the white board they'd brought down from the archives. He needed the freedom to make notes and write out marginal tangents, but he didn't dare touch the pristine timeline his fr-colleagues had created. Erasing their Allies and Enemies brainstorm session, his gaze lingered on the little spider Martin had drawn. He smiled and looked down at his arm where the pen-drawn tattoos stood out against his pale skin. He touched the spider on his wrist reverently before erasing the rest of the board.

"Alright. We know that the earliest mention of the Eye goes back to the Serapeum of Alexandria and it likely extends to the Library of Alexandria. Contrary to popular belief, neither was outright destroyed insomuch as their influence dwindled as the culture changed in "favor" of the Christian empire," Jon said, marking Alexandria's place on the crude timeline he was creating. Melanie groaned as it became apparent that a history lesson came with the request for an explanation. "From the descriptions Gerry provided--"

"That's the second time you've said that name. Who's Gerry?" Melanie asked.

"Gerard Keay. He...wanted to be called Gerry..by his friends," Jon said quietly.

It dawned on Melanie who he was talking about. From the looks she got from Martin and Basira it was clear she should've remembered the inspiration behind Jon's plan to burn statements as a means of distracting Elias over a year ago. If she was being honest with herself, which her therapist encouraged, she'd been actively ignoring those memories in favor of thinking about literally anything else. It wasn't the healthiest of strategies, but it kept the anger at bay. Any thoughts of Elias immediately set her blood boiling. It was the closest she ever felt to Daisy and what she was likely fighting day after day. 

"Sorry," she said.

Jon didn't turn from the white board. He stood there, gathering his thoughts. Facing the room meant facing their varying looks of sympathy or annoyance and he needed to focus. It was hard enough concentrating in his current state as information poured in at a rapid rate. It didn't escape him that even in the tunnels he was receiving massive amounts of data. For all of his worries about losing momentum in his sleep, he was beginning to realize that there was no stopping the flow now that he'd broken through the buffers and barriers of his own making. 

"Jon," CJ said gently, reminding him of his current audience. Taking a deep breath, Jon continued.

"Right. Gerry said the Eye's domain is surveillance, the idea that someone is watching you suffer. Gathering knowledge, data, information, that's all part and parcel of being able to see someone and Know everything about them to the uncomfortable degree that they understand they're being Seen," he said.

"It's why the other Fears are so antagonistic towards the Eye," CJ added. "The last thing they want is someone or something else Knowing what they have planned or how to stop them. The more the Eye Knows about them, the more powerful it becomes. The fear doesn't go away, but the exposure cuts them as effectively as a sword."

"If only a sword fight was the answer," Daisy grumbled.

"We have a number of statements attesting to the Eye's motives over time, but the largest cluster we've uncovered, outside of present day, starts here," Jon said, circling the 1800s. "Jeremy Bentham proposes the Panopticon prison and secures funding to build at Millbank. Robert Smirke takes over as the architect in 1815. The Magnus Institute is founded in 1818. The Flesh emerges at some point in this era."

"Too many coincidences," Basira said.

"Exactly! The Eye feeds off of observation, the fear of observation, and knowledge of the other fears. So, what if Millbank was an attempt at a ritual by followers of the Eye to combine them all?" he said. CJ handed him a sheet of paper that he taped to the board, a printed copy of Millbank Prison's architectural plan. "The original concept of the Panopticon would give the Eye total surveillance. The labyrinthine corridors were confusing even to the staff--"

"The Spiral," CJ said.

"The swamp on which it was built caused disease to run rampant--"

"The Corruption and The End," Martin said. "Probably the Buried too with the tunnels and sinking into the swamp."

"Prisoners were isolated--"

"The Lonely and the Stranger," Daisy added.

"Prisoners in general," CJ said. "They've lost everything. Their lives are gone. Desolation."

"The Web as well," Martin said. "Prisoners have no control over anything they do."

"Abusive guards who likely contributed to prisoner deaths not brought on by disease--"

"The Hunt," Daisy said, "and the Slaughter."

"The lighting was pretty poor even for its time--"

"The Dark," Melanie said.

"Those who lived through the horrible conditions were put on boats to Australia--"

"The Vast and the Lonely," CJ said, whistling in shock at the picture they were painting.

"What about the Flesh?" Melanie asked.

"It's a prison packed full of those who society deems unworthy of justice or rehabilitation. They're dehumanized, treated poorly, left to die, sent to a prison colony to rot," Daisy said bitterly. "In the end, they're just meat."

Jon sighed as he made the last notation on the board. "Yeah."

"But it failed. Could we even guess as to why?" Martin asked.

"Scale," CJ said. "If you want to alter the fabric of reality, you need something bigger, more widespread. A prison isn't going to cut it. It's too contained."

"That was Smirke's intention," Jon said. "He was testing a theory, experimenting with architecture as a means of containing and controlling the Fears. Or, at least, lessening their influence."

"Doesn't seem to have panned out," Melanie muttered.

"No, but someone still learned from it," Jon said. "Millbank started taking in prisoners in 1816, the Magnus Institute was founded two years later. Plenty of time to realize the prison experiment wouldn't work."

"So he starts playing the long game," CJ said. "What is the Eye really? It's a hoarder, a collector, and if you want to feed your god on a massive scale, you create an institution dedicated to bringing that knowledge into a centralized location."

"There are hundreds, potentially thousands of statements in the archives," Basira said.

"Not to mention hundreds more at the Usher Foundation and the Pu Songling Research Center," Martin added.

"Three institutions in three of the most surveilled countries in the world," Jon said. He turned back to the white board. "And the three of the most surveilled cities...that's it! That's how it happens!"

"Jon?" Martin said.

"The Extinction! The Eye wasn't able to make use of the Flesh's birth. The world wasn't as...connected as it needed. Newspapers were too slow, no telegraphs or phones..."

"JON!: Martin called.

"It's a global feedback loop!" Jon exclaimed. "London, Beijing, Washington, DC...each with a connection to the Eye. All of them with massive amounts of CCTV - London especially. If the Extinction is born, the world will know. Everyone will be watching!"

"Oh, shit," CJ gasped.

"Seconded," Melanie said. "The media attention alone would be massive. 24-hour news channels, social media, print...it-I'd almost be impressed if I wasn't terrified."

"This is what it's been waiting for. Two hundred years worth of power from statements and testaments...all for a front row seat to global anarchy," CJ said. She looked awestruck, like the gravity of the situation was hitting her for the first time. "Whatever's leftover gets to live under the Watcher's Crown."

"No wonder Elias stayed out of it," Basira said. "He wants this. He gave Lukas run of the institute just to humor him while he lounged in prison and let the clock run out."

Jon looked over at Martin, trying to read his face, but the younger man was like stone. Except for his clenched fists, he was making every effort to have no reaction. The chill that suddenly came over the area indicated otherwise. "How do we stop it?"

"It's like Jon said," Daisy chimed in. "We destroy the archives."

"That was Gertrude's plan all along," Jon said. "Elias killed her before she could do it, but she was going to destroy the archives. She wasn't...she wasn't as far gone as I am, but I she new how malicious this place is."

"Then that's the plan," Daisy said confidently. "We bring this place down. Brick by brick if we have to."

"That's not even close to a plan," Martin said. "Where are we going to get enough explosives to do it? Gertrude already had a supply ready when we went after the Stranger and it took her a while to get it. Then, how much of this has to be destroyed to be effective? The whole building? The building and the tunnels? The neighborhood? That doesn't stop the Extinction."

"But it could play into the Eye's...hands, as it were," Melanie said. "If we blow this place up, people will notice. It wouldn't be hard to spin it into a terrorist attack. Get everyone riled up and suspicious."

Martin saw Jon's eyes perk at the word "spin." He reached into his pocket, pulling out the lighter with the etched-in spiderweb. 

"If we keep it standing, the danger doesn't go away--" Daisy began.

"The Web," Jon said. It was said quietly, but the echo of the tunnels made it loud enough for everyone to hear. "The goddamn Web!"

"Jon--" CJ started.

"They saw me first, before the Eye. They sent me this lighter. They sent Oliver to push me towards waking up. They brought me tapes. They've been in the archives the whole time," Jon said. "Of course this is what it wants because the world is already perfect for them."

"What're you saying? That the Web is actually helping us?" Melanie asked.

"To help itself, yes. If we destroy the archives, then I don't think we'll have to worry about how the media spins it. The Web will likely take care of that if it doesn't already have a plan in place," Jon said.

"Assuming you're correct, that still doesn't solve the problem of fire power," Basira said.

"Yes, it does," Jon said. "Who do we know who has a grudge against Gertrude and the archives and has a knack for desolation?"

"Jude Perry," Martin said, a smile almost perking at the corner of his mouth. 

"She's finally going to get her revenge," Jon said.

"Wait, but what does that mean for us?" Melanie asked. "We know destroying statements hurts you and Elias, but will it kill you if all of them burn?"

"I...don't know," Jon answered.

"But, if it does, we die if we're still bound to Elias as employees," Melanie added. Any excitement that had built up vanished immediately. The grim reminder of their situation filled the air along with the lingering chill of Martin's mood. Jon gripped the lighter tightly, a decision made that none of them were privy to.

"Not if I can help it," Jon said. He stormed out of the tunnels, racing back to the archives. 

"Jon!" Martin shouted, following close behind. The women of the archives were left alone, staring at a timeline, a nascent plan, and each other.

Puffing out her chest in an attempt to look bigger than her withering frame, Daisy said, "All right, let's get to work."

***

Martin found Jon in Elias's old office. He'd fanned out a group of file folders on the desk - employee files - and was currently staring at them as hard as humanly possible. It would have been funny if Martin didn't know what was happening, what Jon was attempting to do. After a minute his face grimaced as he struggled in his search. It was unclear if he was in pain or merely frustrated, but when it finally seemed like his efforts were fruitless he took in a gulp of air as he resurfaced from the ocean within his mind. The little energy he'd managed to gain back was gone as he slumped into the chair, fingers rubbing at his head for some kind of relief.

"You thought it would be that easy?" Martin asked. He pulled a bottle of pain killers out of his pocket, setting it on the desk. Jon grabbed it, knocking back three pills like candy at the cinema.

"I thought I was at a point where contracts binding employees to a malevolent entity could be revealed," Jon said. "I'm going to have to see Elias..."

"No, you're not," Martin said forcefully. "You don't know what he'll do to you. This could be what he's wanted the whole time, waiting for you to be desperate enough to talk to him and then..."

"Then what?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything, alright?! I'm just an idiot who got himself bound to the Lonely out of some stupid idea that he was going to save the world!" Martin yelled. "And now the one person...the one person I've spent the last year trying to keep safe wants to put himself in danger _again_!"

"I never asked you to keep me safe!"

"No, you couldn't, could you? You were dead, Jon!"

"Are you blaming me for being in a coma? Need I remind you, I was blown up trying to stop the Stranger from reshaping reality. I'm sorry it only took me six months to wake up while the Eye had me watching people live through their traumas in my dreams!" Jon shot back. "And what did I find when I woke up? You were gone. Run off to help Peter Lukas and barely a word spoken until less than a week ago!"

"What do you want me to say? Sorry?" Martin said indignantly. "Fine. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I stayed behind while Elias traumatized me. I'm sorry I didn't get blown up along with everyone else. I'm sorry I sat by your bedside for months, waiting for you to wake up. I'm sorry the Flesh attacked the Institute! I'm sorry I had no one to help me! I'm sorry I love you and wanted to keep you safe!"

"What do you think _I'm_ trying to do, then?!" Jon shouted. He pulled the sleeve of his shirt up as far as it would go, showing Martin the illustrations he'd made. "It's like you said, Martin, I've faced all of them. I'm bound to one. I'm The Archivist. Whatever happens...there's no escape for me, but the rest of you still have a chance. If Elias and I die, then we die alone. I won't let him - I won't let him take you with him. Any of you."

Martin sighed, the fight sloughing away. There was no simple answer, no winning an argument that could only go around in circles. Jon looked equally defeated. Pushing his sleeve back down, he stood and crossed the room to meet Martin in the doorway. He was wobbly on his feet, but Jonathan Sims was nothing if not stubborn. Toe to toe with Martin Blackwood, however, and he felt his body turn to jelly all over again. Hesitant, he let their fingers lightly touch until Martin responded and allowed their hands to join. Jon reached out, gently leading Martin by the chin to face him.

"I've made so many terrible decisions. I've done terrible things. And I haven't done right by you, not really, so let me do this one thing...let me do something right," he said. The words were heavy in his throat, but he forced them out. "Let me be worthy of that love."

"Shut up," Martin said. "This isn't noble, Jon. It's suicide. And for what? A clear conscience?"

"Maybe. Or...I just really what you to live through this," he responded.

"And what's living when you're Lonely? I'm not as human as I used to be either. What if I don't...what if I don't want to live through this without you?" Martin asked.

"Then you're an even bigger idiot than me," Jon said.

There was the lightest of chuckles in response. "I don't think that's possible."

"You'd be surprised," Jon said. He leaned in further, pressing their foreheads together. "I have to do this, Martin."

"I know," he breathed.

"We're out of options and...and I have to so _something_," he stressed. "I don't know if it will work, but I have to try."

"What about the Extinction? Stopping the Eye doesn't automatically save the world. How do we fight it if you're gone?" Martin asked.

"You'll figure it out. You and Melanie and Basira and Daisy..." Jon paused, smiling at the thought of them saving the world. "Let's be honest, I've been the weakest link in the chain for a while."

"Stop it," Martin said. "Stop doing that. I won't let you martyr yourself either. Just...no drastic actions until the audit ends, alright?"

"Yeah. Same to you," Jon said.

"Sure."

They were both horrible liars.

***

Statements

N/A UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

\- J. Sims


	7. Friday Night & Saturday

Friday Night

A smarter person might have waited until they were at moderate strength before planning out how to take down the seat of power for an eldritch entity of fear. A smarter person might have stayed in the tunnels where the likelihood of being spied on was lesser. A smarter person might have acted with caution as they poked around cobweb infested corners of the building while saying pertinent information out loud. A smarter person wouldn't have started experimenting with burning statements after his - after Martin left the office to do some research.

Jon was not a smart man.

He'd burnt two statements and the pain surged through his body but was doubly focused in his head. He didn't remember it hurting this much when he'd burnt Gerry's page. He also hadn't wholly given himself over to the Eye at the time so there was likely something more to the connection. He wondered if Elias felt it as well and for the briefest of moments he let himself smile at the thought of Elias suffering. He was so caught up in the moment that he didn't hear the door open and a pair of light footstep walk in.

"Jon? Are you okay?"

Lifting his head from the meager protection of his arms, Jon almost didn't believe he was looking at Georgie Barker. He hadn't seen her in months, but there was no mistaking the look of mild anger mixed with deep concern.

"Georgie...you grew out your hair..."

Dropping the bag slung across her shoulder, Georgie rushed to check him over. She wasn't a nurse by any stretch, but she'd taken care of Jon enough in the years they'd known each other that diagnosing him was practically a past time. His skin was pale and sweating. He looked feverish, but there was no heat coming off his body. He was shaking, his brow furrowed in pain, but there was no obvious wound. He looked like hell and she smelled smoke coming from the trash can. 

"What's wrong with you? Are you hurt? Are you sick?" she asked. Jon thought he heard an edge of fear in her voice, but he was in too much pain to examine it further.

"All of the above," he said in a thready whisper. "It was an experiment. I wanted to know how much it was going to...going to hurt when we destroy this place."

"...Melanie said something about 'killing it with fire,' but I just thought she was talking in metaphor," Georgie said.

"No, it's quite literal in this case. We've only got a day and a half to plan properly without anyone watching...apart from the spiders. I just..." he paused, realizing what he was saying. Shaking his head with a miserable smile he continued, "I needed to Know and now I do. I really am hopeless, aren't I?"

"Not entirely," she said, pushing the long, sweaty strands of hair off his face. "Your hair, however, is another story."

Laughing made the pain resurge, but he didn't care. A few cycles of breathing like CJ taught him and he was able to sit up straight. Georgie stayed kneeling by the chair, her dark eyes wide and open with worry. Jon let the silence linger, he needed an excuse to look at her again through his tired eyes. Their time together as a couple was short, but he remembered how much he loved seeing her smile, like it was a secret shared between them. The memory turned in his mind. Was that when it started? Was that another path that led towards the inevitability of the Eye's hold? He shook it off. The time for self-examination was over as was Georgie's visit. 

"What are you doing here, Georgie?" he finally asked.

"Melanie asked me to help. She said you really needed it; that you were all probably going to die," she said.

Jon shrugged, letting his gaze harden as his demeanor turned to stone. "What else is new? I was probably going to die yesterday. Definitely a week before that and most likely in the next few days."

"Jon--"

"You made it very clear you were done with this," he said, gesturing to the entirety of the room. "Done with me. Melanie is worth saving, but not Jon Sims, right? I believe your words were something to the effect of 'it's not brave to throw yourself on a grenade if you're the one who threw it in the first place?' Was that it?"

"Don't do this, Jon," Georgie warned, tears filling her eyes.

"Don't do what? I haven't _done _anything! I just sit here and _do_ as I'm told because everyone around me has an opinion on what I should be _doing_. And when I think I might _do_ something, everyone laughs because of course I'm not going to do it, right? I'm not going to stop extracting statements. I'm not going to kill myself. I'm not going to fight back. I don't need another person in this godforsaken hellmouth telling me who I am or what I am or anything else for that matter," he said. It had started as a deliberate farce to get her out the door, but it had quickly morphed into the truth. It was hard to hide so much anger on top of the weakness and hunger his body was fighting against. The barrier between his mind's stream of consciousness and his mouth had apparently broken along with the rest of him.

Georgie was silent again, shocked by the sudden change in behavior. She'd seen Jon angry before, but never to this extent. It was even more...frightening coming from such an emaciated shell of the man she once loved. "Jon, I..."

"Get out, Georgie. Please don't come back," he said. "I have work to do."

"Jon--"

"**Get**. **Out**." He hadn't compelled someone in a long time and the rush of it felt exquisite and dreadful. Georgie nodded, tears streaming down her face as she grabbed her bag and walked out of the office. He shuddered when she was out of sight. Even with his connection to the Eye lessened; even with his body and mind barely holding on he was still able to command another human being to do as he pleased. There would be no end to the struggle. The temptation would always exist no matter what he did or how many reassurances he gave others and himself. He was a monster and monsters needed to be killed.

***

CJ was on the phone at the front desk, writing furiously on a notepad as she received instructions, when Martin approached her. She looked up and held out her finger to keep him from talking. She nodded a few times, said 'yes' and 'no' in equal quantities, and rolled her eyes frequently. Finally, she made a quick succession of strikes through the notes she'd just written, said 'yes, yes, got it, good-bye,' and hung up. Tearing the notes up, she tossed the paper into the trash can and dramatically slumped in her chair. "Sorry about that, Martin. The IT group in DC was giving me instructions about what to expect after the audit ends, but they always forget how many times I've gone through this and give me the same information even though they always say there's been an update."

"Do they know when it will lift entirely?" he asked. "I thought Jon mentioned it, but..."

"The witching hour usually - plus or minus five minutes. Should be ending in about a half an hour. Sorry, it's not an exact science," she said casually. "You look like you want to ask me something else, though."

Wringing his hands, Martin nervously stepped closer and leaned in conspiratorially to say, "Would - would it be in Jon's best interest if I...if I found someone for him to...take a statement?"

CJ didn't come across as a woman who was easily shocked, but the moment the question left his lips he saw her eyes grow twice their size as millions of question mark tattoos covered her skin. She looked around to check for anyone else who might be in the area, which was odd enough given their current position. "Martin...you do realize what you're asking, right?"

He sighed, "Of course I do."

"Then why are you asking?"

"Because he's...he's going to do something. He's hungry and he's desperate, CJ. I don't know if he'll survive much longer once the audit lifts," he said. "He's talking about going to see Elias."

"You're worried Elias might do something to him or he might do something to Elias?"

"Both. And I don't know if Jon will be able to cope either way."

"Because he's been coping well so far?"

Martin glared, "Right."

"Look, Martin, I get it, but...this is a slippery slope. You can't just invite people to the archives and hope one of them has a statement worth extracting," she said. "You all have also made it clear that Jon's method of feeding is unacceptable if it comes from a live subject. Changing your mind because you're seeing the consequences of mid-level starvation won't help him either."

"I know that!" he shouted. 

"Then why--?"

"Because I don't want him to die again!" he cried. He knew it was probable that someone heard him, but he didn't care. "I've worked so hard at making sure that they were safe. I let the Lonely claim me and it's - it's all for nothing!"

"'There is no end to what a living world will demand of you,'" she said. When Martin looked at her quizzically she added, "Octavia Butler. _Parable of the Sower_."

"I don't think a literary quote is going to help the situation," he said. 

"Neither is you wallowing," she countered. "You know better, Martin. You were ready to sacrifice yourself to stop the Extinction not too long ago. You're geared up to do it as we speak. A week long reprieve was never going to destroy the bigger threat."

"Then why put us under audit at all?" Martin asked.

She shrugged. "I had to see what would happen."

Martin froze. "What?"

"This is a world wide threat we're dealing with and I had to be absolutely sure the archives wasn't entirely compromised," she said. "You're not the only ones at risk and, I'm sorry, but I wasn't about to hand over the daunting task of saving the world to five emotionally stunted amateurs. You got lucky stopping the Stranger, but I can't count on luck with the Watcher's Crown or the Extinction."

"You call any of what happened stopping the Stranger _lucky_?" Martin seethed. He felt the pull of cold fog around his ankles. Goosebumps dotted CJ's arms as the temperature took a dramatic plunge. "You're no better than the rest of them! Watching and waiting to see what happens for your own sick thrill! You don't actually care about helping Jon, or us, at all, do you?"

Fire and blood rippled across CJ's skin as a radiant illustration of a third eye materialized on her forehead. The air around them began to feel compacted as the gaze of something Beyond penetrated the room. Martin hadn't felt the weight of the Eye's watch on him for nearly a year, but the anxiety and panic that came with such a menacing spotlight was eerily familiar. When she stood, Martin realized just how much taller she was and how formidable she must be towards any of the other Fears she'd faced. She might not have been able to extract a statement from him, but in that moment he thought she could easily take whatever she wanted with little resistance. 

"I want nothing more than for Jon and the rest of you to survive," she said, "but I'm not a naive child who believes in fairy tales. Loss and change are inevitable, Martin. Sometimes the Eye wins; sometimes we get to fuck up its plans. And if that means destroying the archives and Jon with it, then I can't afford to hesitate just because I like you."

"What about Daveed? What if it was him who was at risk?" Martin asked. "Wouldn't you do everything you could to save him?"

A sudden streak of pain and regret flashed across her eyes. "You're assuming there's still a Daveed worth saving."

"I-I don't understand," Martin said. He felt the spotlight dim; the hairs on the back of his neck no longer standing in fear. He watched the tattoos disappear as she sat back down, a sad smile forming to match her tear-filled eyes.

"Like I said...loss and change are inevitable. Sometimes the man on the phone is the man I fell in love with. Sometimes he's a shell whose mind is lost to the curling mass of wires and circuits that latched on to him two years ago. And...sometimes...he's just static," she said. She leaned in closer. "Take the time you have left and make it count."

The door to Jon's office slammed as the two watched Georgie Barker race out of the archives, tears in her eyes. Martin tried to say something, but she was gone before he could get a word out. The smell of smoke wafted behind her. Without another word, Martin rushed to Jon's office. CJ stayed seated, alone, and let herself cry.

***

The door flew open under the force of nature that was a concerned Martin Blackwood. He found Jon slumped in his chair, passively staring at the walls. The scent of smoke and paper was strong as he approached the desk. Looking in the bin, Martin saw flecks of burnt paper and the unmistakable insignia of the Magnus Institute letterhead. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Jon had done.

"I know I haven't said it yet," Jon began as if they were in mid-conversation. "I'm not the type for overt displays of affection, but...I'll be damned if everything about us just flies in the face of conventionality."

"Jon...I know--"

"No, you don't," he said. "You really don't. You're the only person who ever saw me, Martin. I was bitter, aloof, conceited, but you...you were still kind and compassionate without asking for anything in return. Whatever the reason, you genuinely cared and I'm sorry I responded so poorly in the beginning."

Martin walked around the desk, taking in Jon's worse for wear visage. He looked no different than when he'd been laid out on the cot after CJ's arrival a week ago. They'd come back around and the only thing to show for it was a plan that almost certainly doomed the Archivist to a final and fiery death. He took Jon's hand, gripping as tightly as he could. "I don't care about how we started. I care about where we are and what we could be."

Jon smiled, squeezing back with a surprising amount of strength. Whatever he had left he was willing to give it to Martin. "Maybe in another life. In this reality, you have an Extinction to stop and I have an archives to burn. Priorities, I'm afraid."

Martin wiped at his eyes, smiling bravely despite the crushing pain in his heart. "Ever the pragmatist."

"Yes...I haven't said it because I know it could damage your relationship to the Lonely. Who knows how much this week has set you and Peter back," he said. "I haven't said it because the only way to bring someone back from the fog is to be a lighthouse, a sign that someone is looking out for you. That they care for you. That they love you."

Martin nodded furiously. There wasn't anymore to say, not really. If he pushed it there was the risk of damaging any progress made with the Lonely. He wanted nothing more than to pull Jon to him and disappear them both, but running away was no longer an option. They'd waited too long to come to their senses. The only resolution now was to see their respective missions to the end and hope for some kind of miracle that they'd see each other again. 

"I'll be seeing you, then, Jon?"

"Be Seeing you, Martin."

***

Saturday

The spiderweb lighter sparked to life as Jon lit up another cigarette. His head hurt, his body ached, and he felt a persistent chill in his bones despite the warm shower. The fog had rolled in early that morning, taking the only warmth away from the cot they shared for one last night. He'd been pacing the corridors of the archives, waiting. He was careful not to mutter too loudly, but he was well aware of the new cobwebs that had formed in the previously unoccupied corners. After a few hours, he went into the tunnels to continue pacing. Between the time it took to snuff out the cigarette and light up another he saw a yellow door that hadn't been there before.

"Right," Jon said. He reached out to the door. He could feel the heat and instinctively pulled back. His hand curled up at the memory, but he fought against it and opened the door. A great wave of searing fire greeted him.

"Hello, Archivist," the fire hissed.

"Ms. Perry. I have a proposition for you."

**Author's Note:**

> The poem CJ recites to Daveed is "Hora Stellatrix" by Amy Lowell (1874-1925).


End file.
